STAR STRUCK
by Guardian6
Summary: WARNING. THIS STORY IS STEVE/JESSE SLASH. When Jesse has a bad experience, it's up to Steve to pick up the pieces. SLASH WARNING. STORY COMPLETE!!!!!
1. Default Chapter

Title: Star Struck.

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me.

Rating: R. (And I REALLY, REALLY mean it!)

Summary: When Jesse has a bad experience, it's left to Steve to pick up the pieces.

Notes: WARNING!!! Contains scenes of non-consensual sex. If you are uncomfortable or offended by this, DON'T READ THIS STORY!!! You have been warned.

Feedback: Yes please.

Email: helenlouiseg@aol.com

__

STAR STRUCK.

by

Guardian,

Lieutenant Steve Sloan walked into the Emergency Room of the Community General Hospital to scenes of absolute chaos. While he was used to the familiar bustle of the facility, on that particular day, the atmosphere seemed even more charged than usual. It was more crowded than usual and, even though the conversation was muted, Steve could almost feel the excitement in the air. Having just completed a long and boring shift, he'd hoped to take his dad out to dinner. That was now starting to look highly unlikely.

At least with his strapping six-foot frame he was able to see over the crowds and soon spotted the familiar white hair of his father, Doctor Mark Sloan. Steve pushed his way over to where Mark was talking to the hospital administrator, Norman Briggs, frowning as he caught snatches of various conversations. He gathered that there had been a road accident, but nothing gave him the slightest hint of why such an event would generate such excitement.

"Hey dad, Norman," he greeted the two men. "What's going on?"

Mark followed his gaze around the crowded room, seeing the little clutches of nurses, some of whom at least surely had duties elsewhere.

"It's crazy, isn't it?" the older Sloan answered. "You'd think that they'd never seen a movie star before."

"A movie star?"

"Yes, apparently Marcus Marriott was hit by a car and this was the nearest hospital."

"Marcus Marriott? _The_ Marcus Marriott? As in the new James Bond, Marcus Marriott?!"

"Yes," this time it was Norman who answered him. "But I would like to know who is running this hospital while all of my staff are hanging around here like groupies."

Steve couldn't hide his smile at those words. Norman looked every bit as excited as any one of the nurses.

At that moment, the trauma room doors opened and Doctor Jesse Travis emerged. He was smiling as he stripped off his surgical gloves.

"He's going to be fine." Jesse looked as though he were about to say something more, but Norman jumped into the brief silence.

"Doctor Travis, I have half of the World's media camped out outside my office. I don't think that _he's going to be fine _constitutes a press release."

Steve's smile faded as Jesse's whole demeanour changed. He might be a brilliant doctor, but his friend was totally lacking in self-confidence. At Norman's admonition, his face flushed and his gaze dropped to the floor.

"Um... sorry," he muttered. "Mr. Marriott is resting comfortably. He was actually very lucky, no broken bones, just severe bruising to his left leg and some minor abrasions. He is in shock and has a slight concussion. I've recommended he stay in at least overnight. I'll review that situation in the morning."

"Thank you," Norman's tone was still brisk. "It's nice to see that we can still act like professionals here."

With that, he turned away, obviously going to face the press. He clapped his hands briskly as he went, sending the nurses scurrying back to work. Mark trailed along behind him.

"You shouldn't let him talk to you like that," Steve said, as he watched them go.

"That's just Norman's way," Jesse shrugged. "I don't let him get to me."

Steve didn't look convinced, but dropped the matter anyway.

"So what's he like?"

Jesse glanced back behind him, to the trauma room.

" Marcus Marriott? Steve, when I met him, he'd just been hit by a car. He wasn't exactly conversational."

Steve just continued to stare at him expectantly.

"Okay, okay. He did come round once, while I was treating him. He asked me what had happened." Jesse's eyes took on a faraway look. "He has got the most amazing voice. And his eyes... It's easy to see why women all over the world go crazy for him."

Steve didn't answer immediately. There had been something in Jesse's voice, something more than admiration for a movie star. If he hadn't known that his friend was perfectly straight, he might have thought that it was lust. Or maybe that was just his own wishful thinking. He'd been attracted to Jesse for as long as he'd known him, but had never dared to act on that attraction. Now he was starting to look for signs that quite simply weren't there. 

"Sounds like you're more than a little star struck, Jess." He tried to cover the awkward silence with a tease.

It worked and Jesse blushed furiously, then hurriedly made the excuse that he had rounds. Steve allowed himself a fond smile as he watched him go, a thousand 'if onlys' running through his head.

*****

The next morning saw Steve back at the hospital. He'd given his dad a lift into work, then drifted down to the ER to see if Jesse was around. He had become very good at making up excuses to bump into his young friend and Jesse never seemed to see through them. The nurse on duty directed him back upstairs. Doctor Travis, she'd informed him with barely concealed envy, was checking up on Marcus Marriott.

It wasn't hard to find the movie star's room. It was the only one on that floor with a burly minder at the door.

"No visitors," the minder informed him curtly, even though he'd made no attempt to enter the room.

For a moment, Steve was tempted to take out his badge and muscle his way in, but he settled for just scowling at the man. He leaned against the window sill and peered in through the half closed blinds.

"I'm just waiting for my friend. The doctor. If that's okay with you."

The minder grunted, but made no further objection. Steve was happy enough just watching Jesse at work. A moment later, a frown creased his brow and he leaned closer, silently cursing the blinds that hampered his view.

Jesse was sitting on the edge of Marriott's bed and the two men were talking quietly. Then Marriott leaned closer and said something that made Jesse laugh. Blushing, the doctor dropped his gaze to the floor, then looked back up almost shyly. Marriott touched his knee in a familiar, almost intimate gesture and Steve, not quite believing what he was seeing, turned away.

He was flirting. Jesse Travis, straight as they come, girl-chasing Jesse Travis, was flirting with another man. All of his past regrets came coming back to Steve. Why had he never taken the time to talk to Jesse, to find out if he would at least be interested in a relationship? Now it was too late. Jesse was interested in men alright, but another man had got in there first.

No, he told himself, not just another man. It was Marcus Marriott. Who was he to compete against an international movie idol? If he'd ever had a chance with Jesse, it was long gone now. With a heavy heart, Steve wandered back down the corridor, no longer willing to wait for his friend, afraid of what he would give away if he spoke to him now. 

Steve's thoughts chased themselves around his head as he disconsolately wandered the hospital corridors. Even though he should have been heading off to work, he had no destination in mind. Had he really even seen what he thought he'd just seen? A man touching another man's leg was hardly a declaration of homosexuality. And Marcus Marriott was a heart-throb to millions. He'd never heard any rumours of him being gay, not that he'd followed his career all that closely.

And Jesse himself, he was so enthusiastic and out-going and, more than likely, overwhelmed by being in such close proximity to such a famous man. He wouldn't have even known how cute he'd looked at that moment.

Steve began to move with more purpose. He left the hospital and headed for the precinct. At work, he had resources. He would find out everything that there was to know about Marcus Marriott.

*****

By the end of the day, Steve was utterly frustrated. For such a public figure, Marriott had been able to keep his private life exactly that. Private. The only hint of a scandal had been the previous year, when a former PA had threatened to go public about her time working for Marriott. There had been hints that the story would ruin his career, though it never mentioned how. Then the girl had just vanished, amid rumours that she had been handsomely paid off. Try as he might, Steve couldn't find any details about what she'd been going to say. 

There was absolutely nothing to suggest that Marriott might be gay, though the papers might have had some different headlines if they had seen what he'd seen that morning. 

When his shift was over, Steve headed wearily back to the hospital. He needed to talk to Jesse. Unfortunately, he'd missed his young friend by a matter of minutes. He headed down to the path lab instead, using the time to catch up with Amanda.

"Steve, hi," Amanda Bentley greeted him warmly, genuinely pleased to see him. "What brings you down here? If you're looking for your dad..."

"No, no. I'm just killing some time. I was hoping to speak to Jesse, but I just missed him."

"Yeah, he was supposed to be working a double shift. Although, from what I heard, he spent more time with Marcus Marriott, than actually working."

Steve's ears pricked up at the mention of the actor's name.

"I thought that he was being discharged this morning."

"He was, but then apparently he felt dizzy when he tried to get up, so Jesse kept him in another night. Not that Norman's complaining. He's loving the publicity."

"Still, it seems a bit odd," Steve continued, needing to voice his fears to someone. "From what I heard about his ego, I'm surprised he didn't bring in his own personal physician, much less let someone like Jesse get close to him."

"Well, that's Jesse. He has a way of endearing himself to people. And to think that yesterday he wasn't even a fan." She smiled as she remembered her friend's enthusiasm. "To hear him talk now, you'd think he was the founder member of his fan club."

"Got a bit carried away, has he?"

"Totally. You know Jesse, he never does anything by half. Still, it's only until tomorrow, then he'll have to find someone else to occupy him. Thankfully."

Steve looked at her curiously.

"Amanda, I think you're the only woman in this hospital who's not walking around all doe-eyed and swooning. I take it you're not a fan."

"Hardly. I'm not into action films at the best of times, but Marcus Marriott..."

"What about him?"

"He's just ... creepy. Oh sure, he's good looking and all, but there's something about him that just doesn't ring true. Call it woman's intuition, but there's something not very nice about him."

"But he's being discharged tomorrow, right?"

"Right. Then things might return to some semblance of normality."

*****

Work conspired to keep Steve away from the hospital the following day. He still felt a nagging sense of unease, mostly concerning Marcus Marriott and what he hadn't found out about him. Still, he told himself as he pulled up outside BBQ Bob's that evening, he'd been discharged from the hospital and was out of their lives.

Then he walked into the restaurant and found a very excited Jesse waiting for him.

"Steve, you are not going to believe what's happened."

Steve groaned inwardly. Jesse was bursting to tell him something and his unease returned with a vengeance. This was not going to be good news.

"Jesse," he snapped. "I've had a really long, really hard day. So let's save the guessing games, okay?"

He instantly regretted both his tone and his words as his young friend visibly deflated. The bright, eager gaze faltered and disappointment clouded his eyes.

"Oh... um... sorry..."

At that moment, Steve wanted nothing more than to take the young doctor in his arms, but he settled for just clapping him on the shoulder and forcing his mood to lighten.

"No, I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't go taking it out on you just because I've had a bad day. Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?"

Again that shy smile crept on to Jesse's face and Steve's stomach lurched. He had a very bad feeling about what he was going to say.

"Marcus Marriott is buying me dinner."

Steve felt his world come crashing down around him. Jesse, his Jesse, was going to dinner with another man. He felt sick with envy. Then, the part of him that made him such a good police officer kicked in. He didn't like Marcus Marriott and for reasons other than Jesse. Amanda had felt it too, there was something not quite right about the man. He didn't want Jesse going anywhere near him.

"Jess," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "Are you sure that's such a good idea? I mean, aren't there rules about that sort of thing?"

Jesse looked crushed and Steve frowned. What had the doctor wanted? His approval? That wasn't going to happen, but Steve's heart went out to him anyway. He glanced around the thankfully quiet restaurant, then led his friend into a vacant booth.

"You could get into a lot of trouble by going out with a patient..."

"Going out?" Jesse was blushing furiously. "I'm not going out, not like on a date! Steve, he offered to buy me dinner, as a kind of 'thank you'. He doesn't like hospitals. He said I put him at ease."

_I bet he did,_ Steve thought sourly.

"Look, Jesse," he tried again. "The rules are there for a reason..."

"He was discharged today. He's not my patient any more. What's wrong, Steve? I thought you'd have been pleased. I mean, who'd have thought it, me having Marcus Marriott as a friend."

Steve leaned further over the table and lowered his voice.

"This is going to sound weird, but I just don't like that guy. There's something about him that's... I don't know, but I'd rather you stayed well away from him."

"That's crazy." Jesse laughed incredulously. "The guy is a famous movie star. He's not going to turn out to be some crazed psychopath!"

"That's not what I meant and you know it. It's just..." he trailed off, unable to put his fears into words.

"It's just what? What's going on, Steve? Are you jealous or something?"

Steve could only hope that his reaction didn't show on his face. Jesse had hit the nail on the head. _Yeah, I'm jealous alright. Jealous as Hell. Because I'm in love with you Jesse, but you've never looked at me the way you looked at that damned actor._

"Jealous? What of?" Steve bluffed. "Jess, you're going out for a meal with the guy. It's hardly front page news."

__

"No," Jesse said quietly. "I don't suppose it is."

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just asking you to think about this. Guys like Marcus Marriott just don't hang out with ER doctors."

"And what the Hell is that supposed to mean? I'm not good enough to have him as a friend? Thanks a lot, Steve."

"Jesse, I didn't mean it like that..."

Steve's protests came too late. Jesse stormed out of the booth and, pausing only to grab his jacket, out of the restaurant. Steve watched the door a long time after it had closed after him.

"I hope I'm wrong," he muttered to himself. "And I hope it's just your company he's interested in."

*****

Jesse was still angry when he got home that night. He couldn't believe that Steve Sloan, his supposed best friend, had reacted in the way that he had. Steve would never know just how much his words had hurt him, especially when he'd implied that he wasn't a worthy friend to have.

And Jesse could only be thankful that he hadn't gone along with his original plan to confess to Steve about his sexuality. He'd been bi-sexual since his college days, but that was something that he'd always kept to himself. Not even his parents knew about that. Not that he expected his friends to be homophobic, he just hadn't found the way to tell them.

In his wildest fantasies, he'd even dreamed of telling Steve exactly how he felt about him. He wouldn't dare to call it love, not even to himself. Love was something that could be reciprocated and Steve was as straight as they come. He was, however, infatuated with the older man. It was enough for him just to be near him, to drink in the sight of him, to revel in his friendship.

Now though, it seemed that even that had gone. Steve hadn't even liked the possibility that he might be going out with a man. That was why Jesse had so vehemently denied that it was anything even resembling a date. He hadn't figured Steve to be prejudiced but then, he realised, he didn't know his friend all that well after all.

Trying to cheer himself up, Jesse turned his thoughts instead to Marcus Marriott. He'd been dumbfounded when the man, theidol of millions, had started to flirt with him. At first he'd thought that it was just in his imagination, but Marriott had soon convinced him otherwise. He'd focussed those penetrating ice-blue eyes on his and huskily suggested that they get to know each other better.

It was hard for Jesse not to get excited. Just the thought of those hands, that mouth, on his was immensely erotic. He'd seen some of Marriott's movies, but had never even suspected that the man might be gay. It must have been the best kept secret in show business. And Marriott had chosen him. He could have had anybody on the planet, but he had chosen Jesse Travis. 

Just thinking about Marcus turned Jesse on. Idly, he stroked his growing erection through the fabric of his jeans. Sighing, he leaned his head back into the settee. This was the first time in a long time that his fantasies involved someone other than Steve. Then the detective's face filled his mind, his look of anger as he'd told Jesse what a bad person Marcus was.

Jesse sighed again. Should he have stormed from the restaurant? Could he have tried to talk things through? It didn't matter. He could only hope that somehow their friendship would survive through this. He couldn't stand the thought of Steve hating him.

All thoughts of erotic fantasy forgotten, Jesse headed towards the shower and then on to his lonely bed.

*****

Across town at the beach house, Steve couldn't sleep. He'd laid in bed for a long time, tossing and turning and bitterly regretting every word he'd said to Jesse that night. Now, he sat at the kitchen table, nursing a bottle of beer he'd opened an hour ago and wishing desperately that he could turn back the clock. He heard a soft footstep behind him.

"You know, it's anti-social to drink alone," his father said.

Steve smiled wearily and watched as Mark took a jug of orange juice from the fridge and helped himself to a glass. He sat at the table opposite Steve and regarded him gravely.

"You want to talk about it?"

Steve picked absently at a splinter on the table's surface.

"It's about Jesse," he said slowly.

"Ah."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that you've finally decided to tell him how you feel about him?"

If he hadn't have been feeling so wretched, Steve would have laughed. For once, Mark's deductive skills had let him down.

"No." Steve was unable to keep the sadness out of his voice. "Jesse's straight. I came to terms with that a long time ago."

"But he does seem rather taken with a certain movie star who's been resident at the hospital for the last couple of days," Mark pointed out.

"And therein lies the problem. Jesse's going out to dinner with the guy and he took great pains to assure me that it was as nothing more than friends."

"But?"

"But I don't like it, and not just because of how I feel about Jesse. He's got other friends, male friends and that doesn't bother me one bit. It's just this guy. Marcus Marriott."

"Have you tried talking to Jesse?"

"Of course I have." Steve took an angry swig of his beer. "And he wouldn't listen. Then I yelled at him and he stormed out."

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. His son might be a brilliant detective, but he was clueless when it came to Jesse.

"You know what I think you should do?" He didn't even give his son the chance to answer. "Absolutely nothing."

As Steve looked at him askance, he continued resolutely.

"Marcus Marriott is a world famous movie star and he probably has an ego to match his bank balance. Let Jesse have dinner with him, he won't enjoy it. I mean, what are they going to talk about? Jesse's hardly going to discuss his workday over their meal, now is he?"

Encouraged by the slight smile that played about Steve's lips he ploughed on.

"Jesse's star struck. He's going to be rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous, but he's going to be way out of his depth. You and I both know that. You just have to give Jesse the chance to discover it for himself."

"I guess," Steve agreed reluctantly. "But what about Marriott? Why is he taking Jesse out to dinner? I don't for a minute believe this whole 'thank you' story."

"Yes," his father agreed. "That does seem rather strange. But you never know, you might have read Marriott all wrong. His intentions could be entirely honourable. In any case, there's no point in worrying about it, you're not going to change Jesse's mind. Let's just see what happens tomorrow night."

*****

Jesse was out of sorts at work throughout the following day. He had been prudent enough to only tell his closest friends about his dinner companion. He didn't want all sorts of gossip flying around the hospital, particularly where someone like Marcus Marriott was concerned. After all, the man did have a reputation to uphold and not everybody would be as easily fobbed off as Steve about it not being a date.

Still, he could barely contain his excitement and, eventually, Mark took pity on him and let him go home a little early.

"Have a good time," he said, stopping Jesse as he rushed towards the elevator.

"I will." Jesse's eyes were shining with enthusiasm. "And thanks, Mark. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow."

Mark watched his retreating figure thoughtfully. Steve's concerns had transferred themselves to him and he too wondered just what Marcus Marriott had in mind for that night. The man had once been dubbed 'sex on legs' by the tabloids. He couldn't afford to be seen out in the wrong company. More particularly, the wrong _male_ company.

And, unlike Steve, Mark wasn't at all sure about Jesse's own sexuality. In truth, he thought that Jesse himself was confused about it. He'd seen the way he'd looked at Steve, much in the same way he'd once looked at Susan Hilliard, but he'd never once seen any other evidence to support his theory. So he'd kept his thoughts to himself, not even sharing them with Steve. If he was wrong, their friendship could be irreparably damaged.

Amanda came up besides him as he stood, lost in his musings.

"So," she said, startling him slightly. "Tonight's the night, huh?"

"It is indeed."

"You're worried about him." It wasn't a question.

"It's probably nothing, just Steve's paranoia rubbing off on me." He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "I just hope Jesse knows what he's doing."

*****

As it got closer to eight o'clock, Jesse got more and more nervous. He'd spent an age trying to decide what to wear, changing four times before eventually settling on a rather formal shirt and tie. He had no idea where Marcus was taking him, but he thought he looked smart without being too over-dressed. Then it had taken him another hour to get his hair just right. Marcus had said that he liked his hair. And his eyes.

Jesse glanced towards the phone, hoping it would ring. None of his friends had called that evening and he was just a little bit hurt. True, he had seen Mark and Amanda at the hospital that afternoon and they'd both wished him luck, but he'd thought that Steve might have called. He didn't like the way that their argument the previous night still hung over them.

And the longer they went without speaking, the harder it would be to make up. Jesse put his hand over the phone. He could think up a dozen reasons to call Steve, just to make sure that everything was okay between them. Then a car horn tooted outside and Steve Sloan was forgotten.

There was an enormous black stretch limousine parked outside his apartment. A big man, who Jesse vaguely recognised from the hospital, stood by the back door and opened it as he approached, greeting him only with a curt nod.

Jesse got in, then all of his nerves returned full force. Marcus Marriott lounged on the back seat, his white shirt open at the collar, his black pants obscenely tight. He looked beautiful and Jesse could only wonder, again, what he was doing there. It was like a dream.

The limo itself was incredible. It was a car designed for maximum comfort. There was the long back seat, upholstered in white leather, at one end and a complete home entertainment system at the other. Jesse noticed, with a wry smile, that most of the videos in the rack starred Marcus Marriott. About a metre of plush, white carpet separated them.

"Jesse, sweetheart," Marriott said. "It's so good to see you again. Come and sit down. I'll get you a drink."

He patted the seat next to him and reached into a well-stocked mini-bar. He poured them both a glass of champagne, then looked at Jesse and raised his glass. 

"To us," he toasted simply, as they clinked their glasses together.

Jesse took a sip of his champagne, realising that he still hadn't said a word, not even 'hello'. He began to feel a little bit foolish. How did you make small-talk with one of the most famous people on the planet?

Marriott's arm slipped around his shoulder and pulled him closer. Jesse looked up into the actor's handsome face, then suddenly found himself engulfed in a kiss of such passion and ferocity it took his breath away. For a brief moment Jesse tried to pull away, but Marriott tightened his grip around his shoulders. There was a gentle thud as the actor's champagne glass was dropped onto the carpet and Jesse melted into the kiss. 

He dropped his own glass and ran his free hand through Marriott's dark hair. The kiss was suddenly and shockingly ended. Jesse felt his wrist caught in an iron grip and he opened his eyes to see Marriott glaring at him.

"Nobody touches my hair," he hissed.

There was such venom in his voice that Jesse could only stammer an apology. Then, as swiftly as it had arisen, the anger was gone and Marriott was smiling again. Taking advantage of the grip he had on Jesse's arm, he manoeuvred the young doctor until he was lying across the back seat. Marriott leant over him with a predatory gleam in his eye.

"So formal, Jesse," he whispered, his hands moving to Jesse's collar. "Let me take that off for you."

The tie was soon gone, but Marriott didn't stop there. He deftly unbuttoned Jesse's shirt and pulled it open. He began kissing the doctor's neck, then he moved lower, his mouth caressing his chest, his teeth teasing at the nipples.

And Jesse lay there with his eyes closed, making all the right noises, but wondering just how far he was going to let Marriott go.

It wasn't that Jesse wasn't aroused, it was impossible for him not to be under Marriott's skilful ministrations. He just wasn't the type of man who went in for one-night-stands. Especially not ones that involved making out in the back of a car, famous actor or not.

Marriott worked his way back up Jesse's body, then he began to work on Jesse's neck, kissing, nipping and sucking and marking the young doctor as his. Jesse moaned with genuine pleasure and almost forgot his inhibitions. He could feel Marriott's erection pressing into his stomach and he arched up into it.

Lost in his passion, Jesse's hands strayed to the back of Marriott's head. The other man bit down. Hard. Jesse gasped, his hands dropping back to his sides. Marriott didn't seem phased though, his own hands strayed to Jesse's belt.

Jesse gently put his hands on Marriott's shoulders and gave him the slightest push.

"Don't," he whispered.

Marriott ignored him, his mouth still sucking Jesse's neck. The belt came loose and Marriott undid the top button of his pants. Jesse pushed harder, squirming out from underneath the actor, until he was half sitting up.

"I said don't."

Marriott sat back, his face flushed and his eyes dark with arousal. He reached out and touched Jesse's leg.

"Come on, Jess," he purred, beginning to stroke his thigh. "You know you want to."

"No." Jesse pulled away. "Not here. Not like this. You said you wanted to get to know me better."

"And I am." Marriott's eyes raked up and down his body, lingering on his bare chest. "I'm getting to know every inch of you."

"What about dinner?"

With lightning speed, Marriott caught hold of Jesse's hand and pressed it to his crotch and his swollen erection.

"I got something for you to eat right here."

Jesse, now starting to feel afraid, tried to pull free, but Marriott was too strong. The man had been hit by a car just a few days ago, but his injuries didn't seem to have weakened him at all. He rubbed himself against Jesse's hand, then leaned back over him, using his body weight to keep the doctor pinned to his seat.

"How about it, Jess?" He began trying to kiss him again.

Jesse turned his face away, panicking now.

"Let go of me!"

The blow came without warning. One minute Jesse was trapped in his seat, the next he was lying on the floor of the limo, his head ringing. There was blood on the carpet. Marriott wore a huge sovereign ring and he guessed that was what had cut him.

"You little fucking, teasing, piece of shit!" Marriott screamed at him, then kicked out, catching Jesse just below the rib cage.

Jesse rolled onto his back, just in time to see Marriott launch himself at him, fists flying. And that was when his nightmare truly began.

*****

After another sleepless night, wondering and worrying about Jesse, Steve was in a foul mood at work the next day. He was itching to call his friend and find out what had happened, but his own stupid pride wouldn't let him. He'd tried to warn Jesse away from Marcus Marriott, the last thing he wanted was to hear how wonderful everything had been.

He knew that Jesse was on the afternoon shift that day, so he let the morning drag by, then phoned his dad.

"So, were you right?" he asked him after they'd exchanged pleasantries. "Was last night a complete wash-out? Is Jesse back to what passes for normal?"

He heard his dad chuckle on the other end of the phone, but when Mark spoke again, his tone was grave.

"I wish I could tell you, Steve, but Jesse hasn't come in today. He called in sick."

"That's not like Jesse."

"No, no it isn't. I was thinking of going round to see him, but we're snowed under. I could be a couple of hours yet."

Steve felt fear churning in his gut. It was unheard of for Jesse to miss a shift. Something had to be seriously wrong.

"It's alright, dad," he said. "I'll go. I've almost finished here."

"Okay, thanks Steve. Let me know how he is, won't you?"

"Sure thing."

If Steve had thought that the morning had dragged, then the last half hour of his shift seemed to take an age. He left the precinct the minute he possibly could, then ran down to his car. He had to resist the urge to put the bubble light on top and race around to Jesse's with sirens screaming. As it was, he drove there at a more sedate pace, cursing every red light against him. He could do nothing about the thoughts that raced around his head. Why hadn't he tried harder to stop Jesse from going out with Marcus Marriott? What had gone so terribly wrong? Steve came up with a dozen possible scenarios, each one worse than the last. 

When he pulled up outside Jesse's apartment, he was dreading what he might find. His fears were only compounded when he knocked on his friend's door and only silence greeted him. 

*****

Jesse had known that this moment would come and he'd dreaded its arrival. He sat slouched on the couch, dressed in sweat pants and a T-shirt. The clothes he'd worn the night before were in the trash. He'd done that the minute he'd got home. Then he'd taken a very long shower. He still didn't feel clean.

Sleep had been impossible and he'd spent the night sitting in silence, staring at nothing and trying to figure out how everything had gone so horribly wrong. He'd caught one glimpse of himself in the mirror and hadn't dared look any closer. The bruises were just starting to colour and he knew there was no way he could possibly face his colleagues. He decided to just hide away for a couple of days. At the very least it would give him time to think up an excuse.

Then came the knock at the door. He knew it would be Mark, Steve or Amanda, but he didn't move to answer it. He didn't want to talk to any of them. He sighed and closed his eyes, willing whoever it was to go away. 

That was never going to happen. The knocking came again, louder and more insistent.

"Jesse? Jesse, open up!"

Jesse groaned inwardly. It was Steve, the very last person he wanted to see, knocking loud enough to raise the dead.

"Come on, Jess."

He couldn't just sit in silence any more. Steve obviously knew that he was home. When he knocked again, the door rattled in its frame.

"Let me in, Jesse!"

"Go away," the doctor called back, hoping that rudeness would be a deterrent. No such luck.

"Not a chance, pal. Not until I've talked to you. Now open the damned door."

"Leave me alone." Jesse could hear the desolation in his own voice, but could do nothing about it. "Just say it, then get out of here."

"Say it?" Steve was still shouting through the door, but mercifully had stopped knocking. "Say what?"

"Just say I told you so, then leave me the Hell alone."

"I told you so? Jesse? Jesse!" Steve began banging on the door again. "Let me in, Dammit. What happened?"

Jesse shook his head, oblivious to the fact that Steve couldn't see him. Fresh tears filled his eyes.

"Jesse!" Steve shouted again. "Open this God-damned door before I break it down!"

Steve banged on the door with the flat of his hand, fully intending to carry out his threat, if that proved to be necessary. He was just about to yell again when he heard movement from inside the apartment. There was the sound of a bolt being drawn, then the lock clicked.

Steve breathed a sigh of relief, then waited for Jesse to let him in, but the door remained steadfastly shut.

*****

When it became apparent that Jesse wasn't going to admit him, Steve let himself in. The blinds were closed in the apartment, but enough of the afternoon sunshine filtered through for him to be able to see Jesse sitting on the couch, with his back to him. He sat in the armchair opposite and looked at his friend.

"Jesus Christ, Jess! What did he do to you?"

Jesse didn't need Steve to spell out the reason for his anger. Marriott's sovereign ring had cut him more than once. His and his driver's fists had done the rest. His body and arms were equally sore, but he still tried to hide from Steve just how much he was hurting.

The detective reacted without thinking. He saw the bloody bruises on his friend's face and pulled out his phone. Jesse grabbed his arm.

"What are you doing?" he asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

"I'm calling it in. Jesse, he assaulted you."

"No, don't." Jesse's voice dropped to a whisper. "I... It wasn't like that."

"Wasn't like that?" Steve was exasperated. "Look at the state of you. Are you telling me that Marcus Marriott didn't do that?"

Jesse flinched at the mention of the actor's name and his eyes dropped to the carpet.

"No..."

"No? Jesse, you've been assaulted. You can't let him get away with this."

"It was..." Jesse looked anywhere but at Steve. "It was an accident."

"An accident?" Steve could hardly believe what he was hearing. "What, you gonna try to tell me you walked into a door?"

"Something like that."

Steve was getting angrier by the minute. Angry that his best friend had been so badly hurt, angry that he could then so blatantly lie to him. And angry with himself for not having prevented it. As Jesse stood up and turned away from him, Steve grabbed at his arm. 

The doctor was unable to prevent the cry of pain that escaped his lips. Steve jerked his hand back as though he'd been burned, his anger turning swiftly into compassion.

"Jesse, I just want to help you."

"I don't want any help!" Jesse whirled on him, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "I didn't ask for your help. I didn't even ask you to come here. Just leave me alone."

"I can't do that," Steve told him quietly. "You're my best friend. I can't leave you like this."

Jesse's emotions threatened to overwhelm him at the absolute sincerity in his friend's voice. Two tears trickled down his cheeks. His shoulders shook as he tried to repress his sobs.

"Jesse, please. At the very least let me call my dad."

Jesse just shook his head, not willing to trust his voice.

"You're hurt. I won't ask you to go to the hospital, but you really should get some medical attention."

"No," the doctor's voice was raw with emotion. "No doctors, no police. I'm okay. I can handle this."

"You don't look like you're handling it too well."

Jesse covered his face with his hands and collapsed back onto the couch. Steve sat down next to him and touched his shoulder gently.

"I'm here for you, Jesse."

The young doctor looked up at him. Even though one eye was swollen half-shut, there was still sincerity in his gaze.

"Steve, please. I'm asking you, as my friend. Please don't do this. You don't..." His breath hitched in a sob. "You don't know..."

Steve looked at Jesse, at the tears that filled his eyes, at the anguish on his face and wondered how he could make Jesse open up to him. He'd dealt with hundreds of assault victims in his time, but this was different. This was Jesse.

"No, I don't know," he said slowly. "That's why I need you to tell me." 

Once again, Jesse found that he couldn't meet the other man's eyes. He bit his lip, fighting back the tears.

"Please, Jess." Steve reached out and took the younger man's hand. "What is it? What's wrong? Don't you trust me?"

He didn't like the long silence that followed, or the way that Jesse was avoiding looking at him. Jesse pulled free and ran his hands through his hair. As he did, the sleeve of his T-shirt slipped and Steve could see more bruises on his arm. _He's been held down,_ he thought._ Don't let him have been raped. Please, God, don't let him have been raped._

"That's just the problem," Jesse answered eventually, his voice still soft. "I don't know if I do trust you."

And, out of everything that Jesse told him that day, those words shocked and hurt him the most.

"Why, Jess? What have I done?"

"Don't you see?" Jesse stood up and began pacing. "You knew that this was going to happen. You even tried to warn me. Well, guess what? Steve's right and Jesse's wrong. Again. It's hardly front page news, right?"

Steve winced as his own harsh words were thrown back in his face.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Jesse gestured vaguely at his battered face. "To be proved right? To see him hurt me, to... humiliate me?"

"Oh God, no."

Steve was on his feet in a moment and he enveloped the smaller man in a tight embrace. He felt Jesse stiffen at the contact and mistook his gasp of pain for something else. Steve backed off, but kept his hands on Jesse's shoulders. He looked at him gravely.

"The last thing I ever want is for you to get hurt," he told him. "I have never in my life wanted to be wrong so badly. I'm sorry Jesse, I really am."

He steered his friend back towards the couch, then sat down next to him. He took Jesse's hands in his.

"Tell me what happened. Please. I just want to help."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Why? What is there not to understand? I've seen this before, Jess, a date gone sour. You don't have to be ashamed. You're the victim here."

Steve paused, realising what he'd just said, waiting for Jesse's angry denial that he'd been on a date with another man. None was forthcoming. Instead, Jesse sighed and wiped a stray tear from his cheek, seeming to come to a decision.

"You don't approve of same-sex relationships, do you?" he asked quietly.

Steve took a deep breath, feeling his heart begin to beat faster. Here was Jesse, confessing that he was bi-sexual. In another situation it would have been a dream come true. As it was, Jesse was emotionally fragile and needed to be handled with kid gloves.

"You've known me long enough to know that I won't judge somebody because of their sexuality any more than I would a person's race." He kept his tone gentle. "What made you say that?"

"When we were at Bob's and I told you about... Marcus." Jesse stumbled over his tormentor's name. "You were angry..."

"Yes, yes I was, but not because you were going out with a man. It was just that particular man. Jesse, I'm not trying to say 'I told you so'. I just didn't like him. And besides, you were right."

"About what?"

"I was jealous." Steve looked straight at him, prepared to take the plunge. "Jess, I'm not prejudiced against same-sex relationships because I've had them myself. I've been bi-sexual since my army days."

*****

For Jesse, time seemed to stand still. He stared at his hands, hands that Steve still held, unable to believe what he had just heard. Steve was bi-sexual. It was everything he'd ever dreamed of but, instead of being elated, he just felt numb. He remembered Marriott's leering face, his rough hands and his cruel mouth. How could he let another man touch him in such a way?

Steve, for his part, looked at his friend's bowed head and silently cursed his stupidity. What had he expected? Jesse was bi-sexual but that didn't automatically mean that he would be attracted to Steve. He had just been through a terrible experience, one that Steve should have been trying to get to the bottom of, instead of trying to seduce his young friend.. But he had expected some sort of a reaction. The silence was lasting way too long.

Then Jesse shuddered and found that he could no longer keep his tears in check. 

__

"Jesse, I'm sorry." Steve leaned in closer to him and put his arms around him. "I didn't mean to make things worse."

Jesse just shook his head, still not looking at Steve. He fought against his tears, trying to regain some semblance of control. It was a few moments before he was able to speak again.

"You... you haven't... you couldn't make it worse..." he stammered. "It's just that... I... he..."

"Sshh, it's okay," 

Steve's strong hands were rubbing his back soothingly and Jesse dared to look up at him. Their faces were very close together. Blue eyes, holding a hint of desire, stared back at him. Jesse pulled away with an anguished cry.

"I'm sorry!"

Jesse began to sob, burying his face in his hands. This time, Steve was more cautious. He laid one hand on Jesse's arm, stroking it gently and murmuring soothing words while he gave him the time to recover.

At last Jesse stopped crying and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. He mumbled another apology, but Steve waved it away.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," he told him sincerely. "But you have to talk to someone. I can't bear to see you like this. Let me help you."

Jesse nodded slowly.

"Marc... Marcus Marriott likes guys," he began shakily. "But he can't be seen to like guys, you know?"

Suddenly, and with the worst possible timing, there was a loud knocking at the front door. 

TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. Part Two

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me.

Rating: R.

Notes: Thanks for the reviews and my apologies for the delay in posting chapter two. This story keeps trying to sneak into the realms of NC-17, so it's proving to be fairly hard going.

Warning: This story is Steve/Jesse SLASH. 

__

STAR STRUCK

(PART TWO)

by

Guardian.

"Jesse, Steve? Are you in there?"

It was Mark Sloan's voice and Jesse looked at Steve, panic flashing in his eyes. The young man's face was covered in bruises and he didn't want his friend and mentor to see him in such a state. He couldn't very well pretend not to be home, especially as he was off work, supposedly sick.

"Get into bed, Jess," Steve whispered quickly. "Pull the covers right up. I'll get rid of him."

Jesse flashed him a genuinely grateful smile and headed for the bedroom. Steve waited until he had closed the door behind him, then went to admit his father.

"Dad, what are you doing here?"

"I came to see how Jesse is." There was a hint of hurt in Mark's tone, as though he were surprised that his son needed to ask such a question.

He walked into the small apartment, looking around curiously.

"Where is he?"

"In bed, sleeping," his son answered, just a little too quickly. "It's probably the best thing for him."

"Do you know what's wrong?" Mark moved towards the bedroom door. "Maybe I should take a look at him."

"No!" Steve had to force himself to keep his voice low. "No. He just said that he felt nauseous when he woke up. It's probably just a bug."

"Remind me who the doctor is here."

He forced a laugh: "That was Jesse's own diagnosis." 

Mark just looked at him for a long moment, then sat down on one of the armchairs.

"I don't like being lied to, Steve," he said seriously. "Particularly not by you."

Steve sat down opposite him, feeling like a naughty schoolboy. Like Jesse had before him, he had trouble meeting the other man's eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that... well, Jesse really isn't feeling so good, but when I got here, we got talking."

He studied the backs of his hands.

"Dad, he knows I'm bi."

"And?"

"And he is too." Steve sighed, wondering what else he could say. He and Jesse hadn't got much beyond that point. Marcus Marriott kept getting in the way.

"Then so is Marcus Marriott," Mark surmised. "Jesse went to dinner with him last night. Today he's sick. Did something happen?"

Steve cursed his father's perception and sought a way to evade the issue. He still didn't know exactly what had happened on Jesse's date, but he did know that it wasn't good. He sought an excuse that would stay as close to the truth as possible, without giving too much away.

"Yes, you were right," he said. "The date was a complete bust. I don't think it even lasted an hour. Jesse and Marcus Marriott just aren't compatible."

"That's a shame, he was so looking forward to it. Do you know what went wrong?"

"Jesse didn't really say too much about it." That, at least was the truth. "I think he's kinda embarrassed."

"And now he's hiding from the world." Mark sighed. "There's no need for him to be avoiding us, we're not about to ridicule him. He should know that."

"No, dad, he really is sick," Steve hurried to defend his friend. "Maybe last night had something to do with it, but he looked awful when I got here. He's out like a light now."

"And you don't want me here when he wakes up." Mark got to his feet. "Okay, I won't cramp your style. But if he gets any worse..."

"I'll call you straight away." He walked his father to the door. "Don't worry if I don't come home tonight, I might crash on the couch here. I don't want Jesse to be alone."

"He's lucky to have a friend like you. Let me know how you get on."

Steve didn't need his dad to spell out what he meant by that closing statement. Mark was fully aware of his son's feelings for Jesse and knew that he had been hurting for a long time, believing that those feelings could never be returned. Now though, it seemed that they might yet have a chance of a future together.

But Mark was far from happy as he walked down to his car. He knew that Steve hadn't told him everything, that he had, in fact, lied to him. He wondered what was so wrong with Jesse that his own son couldn't trust him enough to tell him.

*****

After Mark had left, Steve eased the door to Jesse's bedroom open. There was a lump under the duvet, but the only part of Jesse that was visible was the top of his head.

"It's okay, Jess," he called softly. "He's gone now."

There was no response from the bed.

"Jesse?"

Steve walked over to where he lay, treading softly so as not to disturb him. He eased the covers back, then smiled down at his friend. The young doctor was dead to the world, his breathing deep and even. It would have been easy for Steve just to climb in next to him, given the revelations they had recently shared, but Jesse was hurt and exhausted. Sleep was the best thing for him.

Reluctantly, Steve tucked the covers back around him, then pulled a chair up next to the bed. He settled into it, prepared to wait for as long as was necessary, happy just to watch his friend sleep.

*****

_Jesse lay on the floor of Marcus Marriott's limousine, it's luxurious interior suddenly seeming cramped and claustrophobic. He was trapped, his head ringing from the many blows he had received._

Marriott leaned over him, filling his vision and Jesse shrank away. The actor was breathing heavily, but his eyes were still enraged. He back-handed Jesse across the mouth.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget." He straddled the doctor's prone form. "You don't fucking tease."

Jesse could only lie there helplessly. Marriott opened his legs, kneeling on Jesse's arms, effectively pinning them. His hands went to his waistband.

"When you make a promise you fucking deliver!"

Jesse wanted to protest that he had made no such promise, but sheer terror had robbed him of his breath. He couldn't even cry out.

*****

Someone was shaking him gently.

"Come on, Jess, wake up. Come on, buddy."

The voice was equally gentle and Jesse slowly awoke. With waking came the gradual realisation and relief that it had just been a nightmare. He blinked blearily and saw Steve's concerned face peering down at him.

And when he saw his friend's concern, his memory returned, suddenly and shockingly. It had been a nightmare alright, but one that was all too real. He felt sick to his stomach and tears filled his eyes.

Steve saw instantly that Jesse was about to lose control of his emotions and pulled him into a hug, rocking him gently.

"It's okay." He tried to calm the trembling man. "It's okay. It was just a bad dream."

Jesse had buried his face into Steve's shoulder and his tears soaked his shirt. Steve looked down at him, saw his exposed neck and recognised the marks there. Those bruises had been inflicted by lust and not violence. There were even teeth marks and dried blood where it looked like Marriott had got carried away.

Had Jesse allowed him to do that? Steve felt a twinge of jealousy as he imagined his own mouth descending onto that beautifully exposed flesh. Then he gave himself a mental shake. His friend was traumatised and needed strength, not passion. Steve continued to rock him, all the while murmuring soothing words.

Eventually, Jesse shifted in his arms and brought his hands up to wipe his tear-streaked face. But he didn't lift his head from where it rested on Steve's chest.

"He was... he was going to... rape me," the young doctor mumbled, his voice slightly muffled. "I didn't... wouldn't... do what he wanted. He pinned me down, I couldn't fight him. I thought he was going to rape me."

"Oh Jesse," Steve breathed.

Horror churned in his gut, but a small part of him was immensely relieved by the words that Jesse had used. _He was going to rape me._ That meant the actor hadn't actually gone through with it. Steve wasn't trained to deal with victims of sexual assault but he was confident that he could help Jesse. He loved him after all. Together they would get through it. 

"What stopped him?" he asked quietly.

"Ollie. His driver." Jesse's hands twisted together in his lap. "He opened that little partition and told Marcus that he shouldn't... mustn't..."

He could still see the driver's face leering at his half-naked form, could still hear his laughter after they'd finally released him and driven away.

"And he just stopped?"

"Yes." Jesse's whispered answer was barely audible and Steve knew that he wasn't telling the whole truth. He looked down at his young friend and Jesse chose just that moment to look up at him. Their faces were very close together.

Steve just had enough time to register the redness in Jesse's eyes and the shocking bruises a stark contrast to his pale skin. Then Jesse surged up to him, locking his lips on his and gently probing with his tongue.

For the briefest moment, Steve responded with enthusiasm. He had dreamed of this moment for years. Then the analytical part of his brain recognised the ruse for what it was: a distraction from the questions he'd been asking. He pulled away.

"Not now, not yet." He saw the hurt on Jesse's face, but forced himself to continue. "It's too soon. I don't think you're ready for this yet."

"I'm ready. I..."

"Jesse," Steve over-rode him gently. "You can't just pretend that last night never happened."

He saw Jesse's face cloud over. The younger man folded his arms in a classic defensive posture. He shrugged Steve's hands off him.

"I get it." Jesse's voice trembled and Steve knew that there were more tears to come. "You don't want me now. After what he... After what happened... you don't... I'm damaged goods, right?"

"Wrong!" Steve replied emphatically.

He could see that the doctor was weeping again, but didn't know how he'd respond to being touched. His body language screamed _leave me alone! _But Steve had no intention of doing that. He put one hand to the small of Jesse's back.

"You were assaulted, Jesse. Even if he didn't... rape you." Even he stumbled over the word. "It was a serious sexual assault. You can't let him get away with it."

Jesse turned haunted eyes towards him.

"He has got away with it," he whispered. "You promised you wouldn't say anything and if you do... If you do, I'll just deny it."

"Why?"

"Why?" There was a bitterness to Jesse's tone that cut at Steve's very soul. "You want the whole world to know about this? Marcus Marriott, the rapist? I wouldn't be able to go outside without someone... the press... I'd lose my job, my friends... I'd have to leave LA."

Jesse honestly believed that what he was saying was true. Marriott's driver had told him what would happen if he tried to go to the police, using his fists to emphasise his point. He'd also warned Jesse that Marriott would have a rock-solid alibi, so he would lose everything for nothing.

"But Jesse, what if he..."

"Stop it, Steve, just stop it."

Any response Steve might have made was curtailed by the sound of his cell-phone. He cursed silently.

"I'll be right back," he said as he headed back into the lounge.

Jesse sat back on the bed and watched him through the open doorway. He couldn't hear even Steve's side of the conversation but it was obvious that the detective wasn't pleased with what he was being told. Eventually, reluctantly, he agreed with whoever was on the other end and hung up. He wandered back over to the bedroom.

"I have to go," he told his friend, all the while hating himself for having to leave. "I'm needed at work."

Jesse just nodded, somewhat distractedly. He was dreading being left alone again, but also relieved that there would be some respite from Steve's probing questions.

"Will you be okay?"

Jesse nodded again, then seeing the doubt on his friend's face, got to his feet.

"I'm going to get a shower, then maybe watch some TV." He laughed humourlessly. "Might as well make the most of the time off."

"If you need anything..."

"I'll be fine."

Steve still wasn't convinced, but he couldn't really delay any longer.

"I'll call by later."

"Sure."

After Steve had left, Jesse looked around his tiny apartment, feeling lost. Steve had rejected him. After so long believing that he was straight, he'd finally got the chance to demonstrate his true feelings, but the object of his desire had rejected him. Jesse fell back onto the bed and wept.

*****

__

The limousine screeched to a sudden halt, throwing Marriott off-balance and sending him sprawling over his intended victim.

"What the fuck? Ollie!"

The darkened partition that ensured privacy in the back of the limo slid to one side and the driver twisted around to look in at them. 

"What the Hell is going on?" Marriott demanded.

"You can't do that, Marcus," Ollie answered, surprising Jesse with his words. "You know that. After the last time..."

"Fuck!" the actor cursed, with feeling.

Jesse, still shocked by the turn of events, lay silently as help came from the most unexpected quarter.

"Marcus." Ollie shook his head slightly. "You won't get away with it again."

Marriott cursed again and clambered off Jesse. He rolled the doctor onto his back and knelt over him. The interruption had quelled his passion.

"You little bastard," he spat venomously. He glanced back towards his driver. "Get him out of here."

Marriott slumped back onto his seat and, reaching for the champagne, took a long swig straight from the bottle. 

Then the back door opened and Ollie grabbed him roughly by one already bruised arm and hauled him onto the sidewalk. The next thing Jesse knew, he'd been slammed up against a wall and Ollie's hand closed around his throat.

"You say nothing about this, to any one," the big man snarled.

At that moment in time, scared and humiliated as he was, Jesse would have agreed to anything, but Ollie began to beat him again anyway.

*****

Jesse awoke sweating, trembling and horribly nauseous. He made a mad dash for the bathroom, only just making it there before he was violently ill. In his haste, he failed to notice the sleeping form stretched out on his couch.

Steve had returned about two hours previously, desperate to talk to Jesse, but loath to wake him from what looked like a restful sleep. It had been a long and stressful night and he had no trouble getting comfortable on Jesse's couch and getting some much needed rest himself.

He was awoken by the sound of someone being sick, or rather retching. It didn't sound as though whoever it was had much left in their stomach to bring up. He looked around, momentarily disorientated, then the events of the previous night came flooding back to him. Squinting at his watch, he groaned as he realised just how little sleep he'd had, but he knew that he had more important things to worry about, namely a murder investigation.

Getting to his feet, Steve crossed over to the bathroom and knocked softly. There was no sound from inside.

"Jess?" he called softly.

When it still remained quiet, he tried the door. In his haste, Jesse had neglected to lock it, so Steve went in. He found Jesse slumped over the toilet bowl, ashen-faced and breathless. He crouched down next to him.

"Jesse, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." The younger man pulled away from his caring touch. "I must've ate something that disagreed with me."

"When was the last time you ate anything?" Steve responded, with a touch of bemusement. "Disagreeable or otherwise."

Jesse glowered at him and Steve sighed. This was not going well. He stood up.

"How about I make some coffee? You get yourself cleaned up, then there's something I need to talk to you about."

There was still a guarded quality to his friend's eyes, but eventually he nodded and Steve headed for the kitchen.

A short while later they sat in the lounge, Jesse in an armchair, Steve on the couch. Steve couldn't help but notice the distance that his friend had put between them, but he ignored the uncomfortable feeling it gave him.

"There was a murder last night," he began.

Normally those words would have provoked a barrage of questions from the young doctor, but there was barely a flicker of interest in Jesse's eyes.

"It's a difficult case," Steve went on, regardless of his friend's indifference. "There were no witnesses, not much in the way of evidence."

Steve took a swallow of his coffee and Jesse looked at him, curious in spite of himself.

"So who was the victim?" he asked.

"Daniel Flint." Steve steeled himself for what he had to say next. "He was a male prostitute and he was raped, then beaten to death."

Jesse's already pale face blanched and Steve though that he was about to make another mad dash for the bathroom. Instead, Jesse gripped his coffee mug with shaking hands and looked at Steve with tear-filled eyes.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked in a less than steady voice.

"Jesse," Steve put his mug down and leaned forward intently. "You've helped me out on a lot of cases and I really need your help on this one. I said that there was hardly any evidence, but there were similarities..."

"No." Jesse's voice was barely a whisper. "You think that he..."

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened. I know it's hard, but it is important. I think that Marcus Marriott killed that boy."

"Then arrest him!" Jesse flared, even though he knew it couldn't be that simple. His friend wouldn't be asking such difficult questions if he didn't have to.

"I can't even tell anyone that I suspect him," Steve argued, not unreasonably. "Not without telling them why."

"No, you can't! You promised!"

"And I won't break that promise," Steve assured him gently. "Not unless you let me."

Jesse looked at him sadly and it pained Steve to see how much this was hurting him. The doctor's gaze faltered.

"What makes you think it was him?"

"There were marks on Flint's neck." Jesse's hand shot up to cover those offensive bruises. "And the pattern of the bruising looked familiar. If we could just do a comparison..."

But Jesse was shaking his head before he'd even finished speaking.

"I can't."

"I know this is difficult and maybe I'm not handling it too well," the detective conceded. "If you'd prefer to talk to someone else, I'd understand."

"No, you don't understand." Jesse jumped to his feet and began pacing, a sure sign of his nervousness. "I don't want to talk to someone else. I don't want to talk to you!"

"Jess, you have to."

"I don't _have_ to do anything." He whirled to face Steve. "I'm sorry that guy got killed, but I can't help you. Just do your job and leave me out of it."

"Jesse, it could have been you."

Steve had to raise his voice to cut through his friend's tirade and his words had the effect of a slap in the face. Jesse sat down heavily.

"I think that Marriott got carried away," Steve continued more calmly. "He was turned on by the violence and then he went too far and couldn't stop. Is that what happened with you?"

The doctor didn't answer. He just stared at his hands.

"Give me something, anything." Steve tried to persuade him. "Just give me a reason to arrest him, forensics will do the rest."

"I'd still have to go to court, to face him again." Jesse murmured. "People would know. I can't do it. I'm sorry."

"Jesse..."

"You see these?" he continued, gesturing vaguely towards the marks on his neck. "I let him do that. I was enjoying it. What does that make me?"

"It still gives you the right to say no."

Jesse snorted bitter laughter.

"Like that matters for anything. All that matters is that I got into the car with him and I let him... touch me. That's all that anyone will remember."

"Jesse, he's going to be defending a murder charge. You probably wouldn't even have to testify."

"Probably? Probably isn't exactly reassuring."

Steve couldn't answer that one. He wasn't about to make promises that he couldn't keep, not even to catch a murderer.

"He's going to have the best lawyers money can buy and they'll probably get him off and I'll have ruined my life for nothing."

Trying to reason with Jesse wasn't working, so Steve tried a different approach. 

"I can't believe that you'd let him get away with murder. What if he does it again?"

He regretted the words as soon as he'd said them. Jesse reacted furiously.

"Then it would be my fault! Is that what you want me to say? That's one Hell of a guilt trip to lay on me. Thanks a lot, Steve."

"I didn't mean it like that," the older man tried to protest. "But he has got to be stopped. Can't you see that?"

"You don't even know if it was him," Jesse argued. "What if I do make a complaint and you arrest him, then it turns out that he was miles away, with dozens of witnesses, when Flint got killed? What then? I'd have thrown my career away for nothing."

"I don't think that's likely. You know what Marcus Marriott is capable of. Look what he did to you. I just need one reason, any reason to arrest him and I can guarantee that he'll go down for a very long time."

"I'm sorry Steve." And the young doctor did sound genuinely remorseful. "There's too much at stake."

Steve looked at him gravely, wondering what he could do to change his mind. He knew that Marriott was guilty and he was not going to let him just walk away. Not when his new movie release was imminent and his smug face would be staring down at him from every billboard in town.

"What about if I talk to my Captain?" he offered. "Maybe we can work something out to keep your name out of it. I want to arrest him for murder, not for assaulting you."

_No, I want to beat him to death for what he did to you,_ Steve added silently. But Jesse was shaking his head again.

"I can't go to the police. I can't help you. Please, just leave me alone."

Steve bit back his anger. He knew the reasons for the doctor's reluctance, but he couldn't believe that Jesse Travis would knowingly let a man get away with murder. That was why he kept pushing, long after he should have given up.

"Jess, I want you to be completely honest with me. You know as well as I do that if Marriott gets away with this, then he'll more than likely do it again. Right?"

Jesse shrugged, then nodded reluctantly.

"And if that were to happen, if someone else were to get killed, could you honestly live with yourself?"

Jesse shook his head, then looked at his friend, with desperation in his eyes. 

"I can't live with myself anyway," he whispered hoarsely. "It was my fault that Flint got killed. Because I didn't report what Marriott did to me, because I wouldn't give you reason to arrest him, it was all my fault."

"I'm not saying that..."

"But it's what you think, isn't it? What else, Steve? If I'd have let Marcus fuck me then none of this would have happened?"

Steve winced at the uncharacteristic expletive. He didn't think that he'd ever heard Jesse use that word before. Steve was off the couch in an instant, dropping to his knees and pulling his friend into a hug.

"I'd never think that," he murmured into Jesse's hair. "I love you, Jess."

The words slipped out without thought and Jesse, once again reacted in a totally uncharacteristic way. He pulled forcefully away from Steve and looked at him, hurt and fear warring for dominance on his features.

"How can you say that?" he whispered, sounding horrified. "You don't love me. If you love me, why did you reject me?"

"Jesse..."

"No Steve!" The young doctor was becoming increasingly agitated. "You're just using me. You just want me to change my mind and you'd use my feelings for you to do that!"

"You... have feelings... for me?" Steve repeated, unable to believe what he had just heard.

"No!" Jesse spat back. "Not any more. Just leave me alone, Steve."

"Jess..." The detective's attempts to talk were again rebuffed.

"Get out!" Jesse was yelling at him now and Steve retreated from the unexpected fury in his face. "Get out and leave me alone!"

*****

Steve stormed into the beach house, slamming the door behind him. He knew that it was late, but he had to take his frustration out on something. Not surprisingly, Mark emerged from his bedroom just a few moments later.

"What on Earth is going on?" he asked sleepily. "I don't remember hearing any hurricane warnings."

Steve at least had the decency to look sheepish.

"Sorry dad." He sighed and sat down heavily. "I just came from Jesse's."

"How is he?"

_In desperate need of help, but too scared to ask for it, _Steve thought, but only shook his head in response to his father's question.

"Still sick?" Mark pressed. "Are you sure you don't want me to go and see him?"

"No, there's no need." Steve was wishing desperately that he could tell his father exactly what was going on. Mark would surely know what to do, but he would never betray Jesse in that way. "He probably won't be back at work for a few days though."

"If he's that bad, then I really don't think that he should be alone. You could have at least brought him back here. Let me give him a call."

"No, he was sleeping when I left." He knew that Mark had seen straight through the lie, but didn't know what else he could say. "I'll call round first thing in the morning."

He glanced at his watch and realised that it was nearly morning already. He'd be lucky to get another two hours sleep.

"Look, it's been a long night. I'm going to bed. Goodnight dad."

Mark watched him thoughtfully as he retreated down the stairs. He knew that his son was lying, but couldn't figure out why. As he returned to his own bedroom, he resolved to get to the bottom of the matter. If there was one thing that he loved, it was a good mystery.

*****

Jesse didn't even try to get any more sleep that night. Not only was he afraid of the nightmares, he was also horrified by what had happened with Steve. In just a few short minutes he had managed to lose both his best friend and any chance they might have had to take their relationship further.

He could hardly believe that he'd pushed Steve so far away, had lashed out at him when he was only trying to help. Jesse wouldn't have blamed him if he never spoke to him again.

So he spent the night staring at the television without really seeing it, replaying everything that had happened over and over in his head. Of course Steve had had to ask those questions, it was a murder investigation after all. Jesse had never turned him away when he'd asked for help before. He'd risked his life for Steve Sloan. Now he wasn't even prepared to risk some bad publicity.

And then there was the spectre of Marcus Marriott, hanging over everything. Jesse couldn't easily forget what had happened and just thinking about it brought all of his shame and guilt bubbling back to the surface.

Jesse wondered if he would ever truly recover from his ordeal, or if that sneering face would be there every time he closed his eyes. 

And if it did ever end, how could he possibly face Steve after the way he'd treated him? As the night wore on, Jesse sank deeper into despair, convinced that he really had lost his best friend.

So, when there was a knock at the door early the next morning, Jesse's heart leapt and he practically ran to open it, more than ready to apologise and do whatever he could to repair their friendship.

"Steve..."

His words died on his lips as he realised with horror that it was not Steve who stood on his doorstep, but his father, Mark. Too late, he tried to close the door, but Mark had seen the younger man's bruises and, after the briefest moment's frozen shock, pushed his way into the apartment.

Jesse was suddenly and horribly deeply ashamed. He ducked his head and scurried into the kitchen, aiming to put as much distance as possible between himself and his mentor. Mark followed him more sedately and leaned on the kitchen counter.

"You don't have to hide from me, Jesse," he said with sorrow in his voice. "I saw them."

Jesse still didn't turn around, but he did stop the pretence of being busy. He rested both hands on the edge of the sink and looked sightlessly out of the window.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mark asked.

"Steve sent you, didn't he?" Jesse responded, evading the question.

"No, no he didn't. In fact Steve doesn't even know that I'm here." He moved to stand next to Jesse and laid a comforting hand on his arm. "I came because I was worried about you and, by the looks of it, I was right to be."

"I'm okay." Jesse's voice was little more than a whisper.

"You're quite obviously not okay," Mark countered. He took the younger man firmly by the shoulders and guided him back into the lounge, seating him on the couch.

"Let me take a look at you." 

Mark didn't give Jesse any chance to argue. He pulled a pen-light from his pocket and shone it into the young man's eyes. Jesse started to pull away, but then realised the futility of the gesture and gave in to the examination. 

"Well, you don't have a concussion, nothing's broken. You're just going to be sore for a few days."

"No wonder they pay you the big bucks," Jesse said, with a feeble attempt at humour.

Mark smiled briefly, then was instantly serious again.

"Are you ready to tell me what happened?"

And, much to his surprise, Jesse found that he did want to talk about it. Whereas with Steve, his emotions kept getting in the way, he felt that he could truly confide in Mark. Plus, Mark Sloan was one of the most non-judgemental people that he knew.

Still, it wasn't easy. Jesse spoke slowly and falteringly, with frequent pauses and more than a few tears. He told Mark everything.

Mark, for his part, listened with growing horror and sympathy. He didn't ask questions, didn't interrupt. He let Jesse take things at his own pace and when the young man had finally finished and broke down completely, he wordlessly took him in his arms and held him until his sobs had subsided.

When he finally managed to pull himself together, he pulled away from Mark and sat staring at his hands, profoundly embarrassed by his outburst of emotion.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled awkwardly.

"Jesse, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for," Mark told him sincerely. "I'd be more worried if you didn't get upset after what you've been through."

"It's not just that. I feel like I've really let Steve down as well."

"You haven't let him down. He won't think that for a minute"

"He doesn't know... Not the details," Jesse looked pleadingly at his friend. "Will you talk to him? If he knew... If he knew everything, then maybe he'd understand why I can't press charges."

They were interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the door.

"That'll be Steve," Jesse said, with the faintest tremor in his voice. "He must've kept the spare key.

"I'll take him for breakfast, talk to him," the older man promised. "Will you be alright by yourself?"

Jesse nodded, for once not just going through the motions, but genuinely believing that he might just be okay. 

Still, Jesse couldn't help but feel nervous throughout the morning, wondering how Steve was going to react to what his father told him. He tried watching television, but found he couldn't concentrate. Eventually he settled for just pacing restlessly, casting frequent glances at the door and waiting for his friend to return.

He jumped slightly when there was a knock at the door, he'd been so lost in his own thoughts and hurried to answer it, not pausing to wonder why Steve hadn't used his key.

Then he opened the door and froze. It wasn't Steve who stood there, but Marcus Marriott's driver and thug, Ollie.

TO BE CONTINUED... 

__


	3. Part Three

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me.

Rating: R

Notes: SORRY!!! When I wrote the first chapter, this was always going to be NC-17! It NEEDS to be NC-17! I knew exactly where it was going, but then the rules were changed and I don't know if I'd get away with what I wanted to write! I almost gave up on it, more than once. But here it is, the third part of Star Struck. 

Warning: STEVE/JESSE SLASH!

__

STAR STRUCK

(PART THREE)

Unable to help himself, Jesse backed away as Ollie muscled his way into his apartment. This was a nightmare. He was still bruised from the beating the big man had inflicted on him after his aborted date with Marcus Marriott.

His eyes flicked towards the phone, but he knew that he'd never be able to reach it and dial out in time. He could only continue backing away until his progress was halted by the far wall.

"Hello, doc." Ollie marched straight over to where Jesse stood. "I just came to see if you'd seen the papers this morning."

Jesse was too terrified to answer. The thug towered over him and he tried to shrink away. If he could just duck past him, he might have a chance of reaching the door. Ollie closed one hand around his throat and forced his head back against the wall.

"Mr. Marriott is concerned." Ollie's voice was low and threatening. "You see, we know that you have a friend who's a cop. He came looking for you at the hospital. Mr. Marriott is concerned that you might have heard some news from last night and jumped to some rather dangerous conclusions."

Jesse tried to swallow past the pressure against his throat. His mouth was dry with fear.

"I don't..." he began.

Ollie very casually jerked him forward a few inches, then slammed him back against the wall. The back of Jesse's head exploded in pain.

"He sent me to tell you not to go blabbing about any of your suspicions to your cop friend." He rammed a fist into the young doctor's stomach. Jesse's instinct was to try and double over, but the grip on his throat was relentless. "And to make sure that you haven't forgotten your lesson from the other night."

The next blow was aimed at Jesse's face, but the doctor managed to jerk away and it only caught him a glancing blow on the side of his head. Ollie let him fall, then planted a vicious kick to his ribs. Jesse curled up as small as he could, trying to protect himself, but Ollie grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him back upright.

Jesse found himself, once again, pinned to the wall.

"This is just a gentle warning." Ollie drew his fist back and this time Jesse knew that he wasn't going to be able to escape a broken nose. "You say _anything_ to _anybody_ and I will come back."

Jesse tensed and closed his eyes, anticipating the blow, but it never came. He heard a shout, then the hand was gone from his throat. He slid down the wall, into a crouch, his arms wrapped around his bruised body.

*****

Steve had barely touched his breakfast. He and his father had gone back to the beach house, where they could talk in private. Then Mark had told him everything. Steve just listened, absolutely appalled, as both of their meals went cold on the table before them.

"God, poor Jesse," he muttered, when Mark's narrative was finally over. "I have to talk to him."

"Be careful," Mark advised him needlessly. "You can imagine how fragile he's feeling right now."

Steve merely nodded, then headed out to his car. Thankfully, the traffic was light and he made good time in getting to Jesse's apartment.

Once there, he paused outside the door, considering whether he should knock, or use his key. The decision was made for him when he heard a crash from inside the apartment.

He swiftly let himself in and was shocked by what he found. There was a giant of a man, pinning his friend to the wall, one arm poised to hit him. 

"Hey!" 

Steve reacted instinctively, covering the distance between them in just a few strides. He grabbed the man's arm and, in the same movement, spun him around and landed a solid punch on his jaw.

Ollie was a big man, but he was also a bully and Jesse had been an easy target. Steve was another matter altogether. Still reeling from the punch to his jaw, Ollie swung wildly at the detective and missed. Steve followed up with two more swift blows, one to the thug's body, the other to his head. The second felled the big man like a tree.

After checking to make sure that Ollie really was unconscious, Steve moved quickly over to Jesse. The young man was still huddled in the corner, with his eyes closed. There was a smear of red on the wall above him and Steve gently put his hand to the back of his friend's head. It came away sticky with blood. Jesse winced at the touch and cracked his eyes open. He smiled weakly at Steve.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"Come on, let's get you onto the couch." Steve carefully helped him to his feet, mindful of bruises old and new. "Then, after I call this in, I'm calling my dad. No arguments, Jesse."

Jesse just nodded and closed his eyes. He really was hurting and, while he couldn't turn up at the hospital in his present state, he would gratefully succumb to some treatment from Mark.

*****

The next couple of hours passed in a flurry of activity. First, uniformed police officers filled Jesse's apartment, then carted the now stirring form of Ollie downtown. Mark arrived just as they were leaving. He spared the briefest glance to the big man, knowing from Jesse's earlier description who he was. Then he made his way into the apartment and sat down next to his patient.

"Jesse, I think you should come and stay at the beach house for a while," he said, as he began his examination.

He deliberately didn't look at Steve when he said it. He knew that his son's emotions would be clearly visible on his face at that moment and he wasn't entirely sure what those emotions would be.

Of course he would be shocked, Mark had not discussed this with him at all. But he also wasn't quite sure what else he would see there. Be it gratitude or anger, he didn't want to know. He'd made the offer for Jesse's benefit. It had nothing to do with Steve.

"I don't..." Jesse began, then gasped as Mark's questing fingers probed the back of his skull.

"Jesse, you're not safe here." He eased Jesse forward, so he could take a better look at the wound. 

"But he's gone isn't he? I mean, you're not gonna let him back out are you?" The young doctor's tone was bordering on panic. "Steve, you saw what he..."

"That's not what I meant," Mark hurried to assure him. "Jess, I'm concerned about this head injury. I don't think you have a concussion, but I don't want you to be alone for a couple of days."

"I'll stay with him." Steve sank down into the armchair and Mark looked at him sharply. He couldn't ever remember Steve using so tender a tone before.

"And if you're called away to work?" He so wanted to see his son happy, that he had to force out those words. "What then?"

"I don't need a babysitter." It was Jesse's favourite grouse.

"By rights, you should be in hospital," Mark retorted. "Now, I'm not going to try and talk you into that, but I do think that someone should be keeping an eye on you. That someone is going to be me, so I can either move in here, or you can stay at the beach house. I know where I'd be more comfortable."

He spoke in a tone that broached no argument and was gratified to see his young friend nod reluctantly.

"Do you want me to help you shift your things over?" Steve asked.

"Maybe this afternoon." Jesse hated to show signs of weakness, but he really didn't have a choice. His head was killing him. "I think I need to lie down."

"Are you okay?" Steve was by his side in an instant, concern clearly evident on his features.

"It's to be expected." Mark smiled indulgently at his son's over-reaction. "Take a couple of aspirins, Jess. This afternoon's plenty soon enough."

He watched silently as Steve headed for the kitchen, to fetch Jesse some water and the required painkillers, then sat at his side and held the glass steady as he drank from it. Mark knew that Steve was not rushing off to work and would, given the events off the morning, more than likely take the day off. It was time for him to beat a tactful retreat.

"I have a few things to take care of at the hospital," he excused himself, lamely. "Steve, if you do get called away, make sure that you let me know."

"Sure, dad."

"And Jesse." The young man looked up at him drowsily. "I'll see you at the beach house, this afternoon. If you feel any worse..."

"Believe me, Mark." Jesse lifted a shaky hand to his head. "I'll let you know."

*****

Steve waited until his dad had left before, once again, helping Jesse to his feet. His young friend leant against him like a cripple, until Steve was virtually carrying him towards the bedroom.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

Steve instantly regretted his choice of words, given what had so recently happened between them, but Jesse didn't appear to notice and continued to let himself be led.

Once at their destination, the young doctor sat down heavily, then lifted his hands and began fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. 

Steve noticed his struggle and crouched down in front of him.

"Why don't you let me help you with that?"

Jesse's hands fell back to his sides and Steve deftly began to undo his shirt. Once that was accomplished, the detective gently eased the material from his shoulders. At any other time, it would have been an immensely erotic experience, but Steve deliberately shut out any such thoughts. He was helping his friend, nothing more.

If this had happened just a week ago, he could have comfortably undressed the object of his desire, his passion quelled by the thought that Jesse was nothing but straight. Now that he knew otherwise, he had a hard time not responding to the sight of that bare chest, albeit marred by bruises.

"Steve?"

The detective looked up at the mention of his name, only to find Jesse's face merely inches from his own.

"Thank you."

With those words, Jesse brushed a feather-light kiss against his lips and Steve almost lost control completely. He needed a distraction, something to stop his body from betraying him completely.

_Jesse's hurt,_ he told himself. _Get him comfortable, look after him, that's what dad said._ And the thought of his father's wrath if he did anything further to hurt the young doctor seemed to do the trick.

"It's okay." He somehow managed a sympathetic smile. "Now, aren't you supposed to be resting?"

Steve's hands moved before his brain could stop them. His own erotic fantasies had been successfully pushed to the back of his mind but, in doing so, he'd also forgotten about Jesse's all too fragile state.

It was done with perfect innocence. Steve was thinking only about making his friend more comfortable when his hands moved to undo Jesse's belt.

"NO!" 

Steve was mortified by the cry and even more so when Jesse scuttled across the bed until his back was against the wall, as far away from him as possible. The young doctor's eyes were closed and he'd started to sweat profusely.

"Jess, I'm sorry," Steve tried to apologise, barely able to comprehend what had just happened.

But Jesse just shook his head and moaned softly, still keeping himself pressed firmly against the wall.

For a brief moment, Steve considered calling his dad, but then the stubbornness that made him such a good cop kicked in. He wasn't the sort of man to go running for help at the first sign of trouble. 

"Jesse, I'm just gonna come and sit next to you, okay?" 

Steve eased himself onto the bed. He moved with exaggerated caution, trying to find some way out of the situation he had just caused.

"You know it's Steve, right? You know I'm not gonna hurt you." He inched himself closer, his eyes not once leaving the young doctor's face.

"It's alright, Jess. I'm here. No-one's ever gonna hurt you again."

With a ferocity that surprised the older man, Jesse threw himself against Steve, burying his face into his chest and sobbing for all that he was worth. 

*****

Jesse eventually cried himself to sleep, still leaning against Steve. The detective waited for as long as he could, before gently disengaging himself and carefully laying him down onto the bed. Leaving him still half-dressed, Steve pulled a cover up over him, then went to make a phone call.

His aim had been to call in and take the day off, but the information he was given soon changed those plans. He put in a quick call to his dad.

"You were right," he said, looking back at Jesse through the open bedroom door. "I've got to go in to work. Jesse's sleeping right now, but he's still not that great. Will you come over? I'll stay with him until you get here."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

Steve went back to where his friend lay and sat on the edge of the bed, just watching him sleep. The cruel bruises stood out on Jesse's face and he was frowning, as though once again troubled by nightmares. Steve reached out and gently stroked his hair. Jesse's frown faded and a slight smile played about his lips, so Steve continued with the soothing motion.

A few moments later, the young doctor's eyes opened and he blinked up at his friend. His headache was no better and his eyes still felt puffy, an instant reminder of his tears.

"I'm sorry," he murmured and it seemed to him that all he'd done for the past few days was apologise.

"No need to be," Steve smiled, still stroking his hair and wishing like Hell that he didn't have to leave. 

"You have to go." It wasn't a question.

"Did you hear me?" Steve had thought he'd kept his voice low enough not to wake him while he'd been on the phone. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't," Jesse smiled drowsily. "But you look guilty."

"My dad's on his way. He can help you move your things."

The younger man merely nodded and closed his eyes, then both of them lapsed into silence. Steve was just starting to think that his friend had drifted back to sleep, when those beautiful blue eyes opened again and stared at him intensely.

"Steve, we really need to talk."

"I know." He laid his palm against Jesse's cheek. "But not today. Let's wait until you're feeling better."

"I think that talking to you will make me feel better."

Steve smiled down at him, touched by those words. He leant forward and planted a soft kiss on Jesse's lips.

"Maybe this evening then."

"It's a date."

*****

Mark had arrived not long after and so Steve had headed off to work. As he drove, he deliberately kept his thoughts away from the young man he had just left behind and concentrated on work instead. When he'd phoned in, he had been told that Ollie, full name Oliver Tobias Nicholson, was refusing to answer any questions. He was insisting on speaking to Steve and only to Steve. That was why he'd had to go.

On his arrival at the station, he headed straight to the interview room. Ollie was sitting in a chair, his arms folded across his chest, staring stubbornly at his would-be interrogators. He looked up as Steve entered the room.

"I want to talk to you, alone and off the record," the big man said.

"That's not how we do things." Steve folded his own arms, prepared to be equally stubborn as Ollie.

"It's important," Ollie said, fixing him with an intense stare.

"No, I'll tell you what's important." Steve leaned forward on the table. "That guy you were trying to beat half to death this morning. That's important. He's got a lot of bruises and I'm going to pin every one of them on you. I hope you've got no previous, because this could send you down for a very long time."

Steve had already been briefed on Ollie's background and knew that he had been in a lot of trouble in the past, so his threat had the desired effect. The thug shifted slightly in his chair and a bead of sweat appeared on his forehead. 

"And that man also told me a very interesting story, concerning your employer and a dead man." Steve pressed on, knowing that he had the advantage. "Do you want to take the fall for that too? Believe me, I can make that stick."

"The doctor won't testify," Ollie muttered, but not sounding completely sure of himself.

"He won't have to. All I've got to do is place you at the scene. And a guy like you, well, you're not exactly Mr. Average, are you? What do you think, Oliver?" Steve saw the other man flinch at the use of his full name and filed it away as another weak spot. "Do you think Marcus Marriott is going to come rushing to your defence?"

One of the other cops in the room gasped at the mention of the famous actor's name, but a glare from Steve stopped him from commenting.

"Do you think he's going to provide you with that oh so precious alibi?" Steve continued, returning his full attention to the prisoner. "Well let me tell you, he won't. I know what he did and he's not going to want the police anywhere near him. He'll leave you to take the blame. Are you prepared to do that, Oliver? To face a murder charge for him?"

The big man licked his lips and his eyes darted around nervously. He seemed temporarily lost for words.

"Now." Steve leaned forward again. "What was it you had to say to me that was so important?"

*****

The day dragged on for Steve. While he was delighted with the way things had turned out, every minute he spent bogged down by the resultant paperwork, was more time away from Jesse.

It was dark by the time he'd scrawled his name at the bottom of the final form and headed back to the beach house. When he arrived, he saw that the lights were still on and silently prayed that it was Jesse who'd waited up for him and not his father.

Steve let himself in quietly and smiled at the sight of Jesse's tousled hair, just visible over the back of the couch.

"Hey, Jess, sorry I'm late, but you wouldn't believe what happened..." He trailed off at his friend's complete lack of response to his voice.

Treading softly, Steve moved around to look at him and, as he'd suspected, the young doctor was fast asleep. As keen as he was to talk to him, Steve recognised the other man's need for sleep. Smiling fondly, he pulled the throw from the back of the couch and used it to cover the slumbering form.

The other man stirred at his touch and blue eyes cracked open.

"I'm sorry," Steve murmured. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't asleep." At Steve's sardonically raised eyebrow, Jesse amended: "Well, maybe dozing a little. I was waiting for you."

"I got tied up at work. Sorry."

Jesse struggled to sit up, wincing as his bruised ribs protested at the movement. He rubbed at his still tired eyes.

"It was good news," Steve continued, wanting to help his friend, but unsure how he'd react to being touched. "Ollie Nicholson completely folded under questioning. He nailed Marriott for the murder of that male prostitute."

Jesse just looked at him disbelievingly.

"It's over, Jess. Marriott's going to jail and your name won't even be mentioned." Steve looked on in concern as tears filled the younger man's eyes. "Jesse, it's okay. It's over."

"Is it?" The bright blue gaze dropped to the floor. "Will it ever be over? The nightmares? The fear... the fear of being touched?"

"Jesse..."

"I said we had to talk," Jesse went on, a tremor in his voice. "And I do want to talk, but I don't know where to start. I'm crazy about you, Steve. I always have been. But earlier, at my apartment, when you..." 

He squeezed his eyes shut, obviously fighting back the tears. Steve perched on the edge of the couch and placed a calming hand on his arm.

"What if it's always like that? What if I'm going to freak out every time..."

"It's okay, Jess." Steve rubbed his arm gently. "It's bound to take time, I understand that."

"Yeah, but what if..?"

"No what ifs. I'll always be here, Jesse. I love you and I'll wait forever if I have to."

"You... love me?" The young man's voice was filled with self-doubt.

"Yeah." Steve leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Jesse's lips. "And I'm gonna be here to help you every step of the way."

Steve kissed him again, intending it only to be another chaste peck, but Jesse's mouth opened at the contact and his tongue began to probe gently. Closing his eyes, Steve allowed himself to become lost in the kiss. His body was responding and his hands moved to tangle in Jesse's already unruly hair.

After a long moment of complete and absolute bliss, Steve forced himself to pull away. He looked at Jesse, sincerely.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked.

"No." Jesse smiled a sweet, simple smile that was tinged with sadness. "I'm not sure at all. I can't _be_ sure. But I do want this. I want you."

Steve smiled back at him, then gathered him into a strong embrace.

"You've got me," he murmured, holding him close. "For always. We've got forever, Jesse. There's no need to rush. We'll just take it one step at a time."

THE END.

Author's notes: Well I finally made it to the end. I do love Steve and Jesse as a couple and, you never know, if I can find a way to keep the rating down, there might be another one on the way. For now, though, thanks for everyone's support. The reviews were greatly appreciated. Best wishes, Guardian.


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